So Small
by Queen Annie-Ferny's Calling
Summary: -Why is it that people always think that he has something to offer them? He doesn't! He has nothing, nothing at all; he had been stripped of everything he possessed long ago.- Desmond-centric. Reposted!


**This fic has been reposted from my other account, Queen Annie-Ferny Cullen, as it is hereby ****being discontinued. For anyone interested to know, it was originally inspired by the song "So Small" by Carrie Underwood and was meant to consist of Desmond-centric chapters inspired by each respective line of the above-mentioned song. Well, like most of my plans, the fic idea fell through after writing three chapters,**** but I've decided to repost at least the first installment ****here. :) Now, enough mindless babbling. **

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**1 ; What you got if you ain't got love?**

There are days when Desmond Hume feels like he belongs in The Wizard of Oz. He can still remember the first time he saw the colourful nineteen-thirties movie, watched the funny little munchkins waddle through clumps of flowers and Glinda the Good Witch descending upon them in her bubble of glory. Roads could lead you anywhere, and the Yellow Brick Road was especially magical, a point proven by the way and reason Dorothy and her friends had taken it in their peculiar skipping fashion: to reach the Emerald City. But it is not them that Desmond feels like he can relate to as much as the man that they were journeying to see.

Why is it that people always think that he has something to offer them? He doesn't! He has _nothing_, nothing at all; he had been stripped of everything he possessed long ago. So why does the very essence of this world seem to view him as some sort of storehouse for things that they need, things that they _want_? He is barren, and he has thought the matter to be obvious enough that others would stop approaching him as though he can hand over their desires. Apparently, he is wrong.

More than anything else, it is his heart that has been wrenched from him, has been ripped apart before his very eyes, leaving him feeling hollow as a dead log. Because what _did _you have, if not love? Even in a perfect physical state and with other organs intact, without the ability to love there really isn't anything to live for, anyway.

Sometimes, Desmond wonders if all this is nothing but a delusion, an exam of mentality set before him to ascertain his worth. The thought cheers him for a moment before his revelation wavers, and soon the pieces of the puzzle fall back into place with a sickening _thud_. _There is no _test_,_ he mutters to himself in disgust. _You've already had your chance!_ He honestly and truly believes in this; in his mind, life is naught but a one-way street. There is no turning back, and, once you have faulted your mistakes and made your decisions, you are set in the path you have placed yourself in.

He realizes grimly that Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the others never met any being on their way back from the Emerald city; the Yellow Brick Road travels only one way too, it would appear. Even though it is just a cheesy movie with grainy footage and out-of-date clothing, it makes sense in more ways than one. Desmond supposes that life has to do that sometimes, if not just to seem less like a confusing-as-hell television show than cruel reality.

Changing course never used to be such a hard concept to grasp . . . did it? He can hardly remember. So much time has passed since the early days, ones spent stumbling around his childhood home fantasizing about armies and planes and whatnot, that the few memories he has left of that era are blurred and fuzzy. Much clearer are those of more recent events, yet at the same time thinking of those hurts more than attempting to scrounge up the old ones. The sharp words and bitter glares that hold the spotlight in many of the more recent flashbacks only bring a sick ache to the broken fissure in his chest where he assumes his heart used to be. As a result, he tries not to think of them much.

His resolve does not take him far. Minutes are too short at times and drag endlessly on during others, and there is only so long that you can sit uselessly idle before your train of thought sneaks off in one direction or another. It is more often than not that he catches himself dwelling on what was previously prohibited, but there is nothing he can do to stop the images flashing before his eyes and the agony tearing at his heart. And so he lets them be, because at least suffering in silence is better than doing nothing at all.

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**I wasn't planning on it, but I have the other two chapters**** saved and ready to go.**** If anyone wants me to post those, too, please tell me in a review. :)**

**--Annie;;/ **

**_Saturday March 14, 2009_**

**_ORIGINALLY POSTED: Thursday January 29, 2009_**


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